


Be Cruel To Me, Cause I'm A Fool For You

by orphan_account



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Catholic Guilt, Character Study, Codependency, M/M, Makeup, Mental Health Issues, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6224203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Charlie and Frank had their weird, inexplicable connection; Dee had the multiple cat carcasses that her landlord refused to dig out of her wall; and Dennis had Mac. He would always have Mac, and Mac would always pretend to understand what was going on in his head.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Cruel To Me, Cause I'm A Fool For You

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be campy, and i'm not sure what happened along the way, but here we go. 
> 
> Title from 'Suck It and See,' by the Arctic Monkeys.

It was no secret that Dennis Reynolds wore makeup. He often maintained that his flawless complexion was due to nothing more than his superior genes, but the gang knew he was full of shit. They’d seen him on more than one occasion sneak off to the back office to touch up his foundation; powder his face, reapply concealer. Sometimes he’d even add a touch of mascara to his lashes; the affect softening the edges of his face, and emphasizing the bright blues in his eyes. 

Whenever someone in the gang would make fun of him (usually Dee), he’d respond by launching into a lecture — that most of them tuned out — over the burden of physical perfection. A burden that needed constant and careful maintenance. He held high standards for himself, and makeup was another tool in his arsenal when his naked features just didn’t cut it.

“You see,” He paced in front of the bar, the careful movements of his hands adding emphasis to each of his words, “In order for me to achieve my goal of physical perfection, my birthright, you may call it; I need consistent grooming, dieting, and well, a little color correcting concealer never hurt right?”

Dennis turned to face his audience and found that Dee was completely engrossed with the video playing aloud from her phone and the beer she casually sipped. Right next to her Frank slept, his snores more reminiscent of a garbage disposal than of any sound that a human should be capable of making. What else could he expect? They had the attention span of rodents. Actually he was pretty sure Charlie had snuck off to the basement and was currently stomping the shit out of a couple rats, at least that would explain the crashing sounds heard from downstairs. The only one of the gang who seemed to pay a semblance of attention to his speech was Mac, who watched him carefully with that wide eyed, puppy dog stare that he often gave Dennis when he thought he wasn’t looking. The second Dennis met his gaze, Mac lowered _his_ back to the bar; he pretended to wipe down the counter, feigning the same disinterest their friends showed.

Dennis smiled a little to himself at that reaction. At least Mac understood, or pretended to understand. He didn’t ask questions, which was nice. Maybe he was afraid Dennis would think he was dumb if he asked too many questions? He’d considered that possibility, but it didn’t matter much either way, Dennis _did_ think Mac was dumb. He thought _everyone_ was an idiot, especially the gang of savages he spent almost every waking moment with.  But that didn’t mean he liked Mac any less, he could say with ease that he actually liked him most of all. 

Charlie and Frank had their weird, inexplicable connection; Dee had the multiple cat carcasses that her landlord refused to dig out of her wall; and Dennis had Mac. He would always have Mac, and Mac would always pretend to understand what was going on in his head.

* * *

 

The gang, as a whole, came to the unanimous conclusion, that the less questions they asked about Dennis’ skin care routine the better; they were all sick of listening to his long-winded speeches as much as he was sick of giving them. For the most part, they’d already grown accustomed to Dennis’ vanity; the fact that he got weekly manicures and that he obsessed over the circumference of his pores only weirded them out a little bit nowadays.

That being said, the whole makeup thing was still kind of odd.

It bothered him that they thought so. It bothered him more than he’d ever care to admit; but what would those brutes know about beauty? He assumed the only showers Charlie and Frank ever took involved walls of sewage water, and Dee didn’t even know how to blend her eyeshadows properly; she had no right in making fun of him when she looked like a ten dollar whore most days.There was no point in trying to explain himself to them anymore, they obviously either didn’t care enough or were just too stupid to understand him. It made his life easier to just let the gang think his obsession with makeup was another means to an end, instead of something he genuinely enjoyed doing. Makeup gave him a sense of confidence he’d never known before it.

Dark circles? Gone! Blotchy, uneven Skin? Gone!

With nothing more than a few tools and makeup tutorials at his disposal he could eradicate all the things he didn’t like about himself, and enhance all the features he did.

Even when he was in high school he’d sneak Dee’s eyeliner pencil from her room, and smudge it all over his waterline. In retrospect, he probably looked terrible, but at the time he couldn't care less. It achieved the affect he wanted. For one, it pissed Frank off whenever he was home from business trips. He’d snap at Dennis, and ask if he was turning into one of those queers, which he’d answer by flipping him off and retreating to his bedroom; where Dennis would quietly revel in his teenage rebellion. People looked at him differently when he came to school with the eyeliner; their gazes would linger on him as he passed by in the halls. They couldn’t help but watch with awe as their golden god graced their mornings with his presence.

One of the very best perks was Macs reaction.

“Dude. What is on your face right now?” Charlie asked, his voice just as shrill as ever.

“You like it?” Dennis asked the pair,  a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the back wall of the high school.

Mac and Charlie sat on the floor, backs pressed to the dumpster; their usual hangout spot.

He tossed a wad of cash Mac's way, and it landed by his feet. Charlie didn’t hesitate to scoop the cash up and stow it away into Mac's backpack, but Mac was still staring up at him with those big eyes of his. 

Charlie hit his side, and Dennis cleared his throat. He hated to spoil the moment, he quite liked that dumbfounded gaze Mac seemed to have superglued to his face, but he also liked weed.

Mac snapped out of his trance, looking away from Dennis to rummage through his bag for his stash. He tossed a small ziplock baggy Dennis’ way, not even bothering to check exactly how much money was in the wad he’d just received. Dennis was a regular customer of his. He trusted him enough to hope he wouldn’t screw him over.

“You look like a chick.” Charlie mumbled, inhaling deeply from a brown paper bag; Dennis didn’t care enough to wonder what could’ve been in that bag. Charlie was always smelling weird shit.

He rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I’m on a whole other level Charlie, far above what mere mortals like you would ever be able to comprehend.” Dennis turned his attention back to Mac, who looked as if he’d just been caught pounding off. “What do you think, Mac?”

“I like…” Mac accidentally squeaked. He spent the next minute and a half clearing his throat, making sure he didn’t embarrass himself again in front of a customer and his best friend. “I like it.” He managed to say properly this time, his voice only quivering a little at the end.

Dennis smiled. He knew he would.

If ever he needed a quick and easy confidence boost, Mac could always give him one. Maybe that’s why he kept hanging out with Mac and Charlie during lunch? He liked getting high with them behind the dumpster, but he liked the high he felt when he caught Mac stealing glances at him even more.

* * *

 

Their monthly dinner was a success. They both ordered the snapper, and Dennis even splurged on a bottle of house red.

“To us.” Dennis raised his glass, and smiled.

Mac just nodded and clinked their glasses together. Dennis didn’t always smile at him like that, not unless he wanted something from him, but this felt different. Now it was just them, no Frank or Charlie or annoying bird lady to spoil it and make everything about some crazy scheme.

Dennis was smiling right at him, and he felt like the sun shined only for him.

* * *

 

The night had been going so well, Mac hated for it to come to an end. On the car ride home he quietly brought up the idea of watching a movie together. Surprisingly, Dennis didn’t lose it in a fit of rage when Mac avoided looking him in the eyes when he asked. He just chuckled and yelled a, “Sure, why not?” over the Bryan Adams tape blaring from his stereo. Mac attributed this weirdly positive reaction to the two cups of red wine Dennis had had at the restaurant.

It was decided. They’d watch Predator, a movie neither of them could ever tire of.

Mac popped the DVD in the player, and plopped down on the couch next to Dennis. They ate popcorn, sipped beer, Dennis even listened to Macs’ extensive critique of the physical forms of each of the lead actors (except the one chick of course, who Mac never paid any attention to).

About halfway through the movie, Dennis excused himself and ran off to the bathroom. Mac didn’t think much of it and let the movie continue to play as per Dennis’ request, it’s not like he was gonna miss anything. They’d watched this movie together more times than either of them could count, they could probably recite the script to each other word for word if asked to. He didn’t mind Dennis’ absence at first, it took quite a lot to pull his attention away from the beefcakes on screen. It wasn’t until the classic firefight scene that Mac rolled his eyes and scoffed, instinctually turning next to him to tell Dennis that he could _so_ choreograph better action scenes than this. He was a little taken aback when the spot next to him was empty. He was so absorbed in the movie he hadn’t even noticed Dennis was still in the bathroom

“Hey dude, are you almost done in there?” Mac called over the noise of the movie.

“Almost! Give me like, uh, two minutes,  give me two minutes, alright?” He heard in muffled reply.

“Yeah..okay.” Mac mumbled, his mood deflating almost immediately. He tried, and failed spectacularly at hiding the disappointment in his voice. “I’ll just… I’ll keep watching then. You’re… you’re missing out, Dennis. Really, really… missing out.”

Mac was glad then that the Movie was so loud; Dennis would’ve thought he was pathetic if he had heard him.

It was hard for him to get back into the movie after that, for some reason he just couldn’t find the same amount of enjoyment from it without Dennis there with him. This was their favorite movie, it almost felt wrong watching it without him.

He sighed, what was the point of Predator if Dennis wasn’t around to make dumb jokes and sarcastic comments to?

Mac kept his eyes glued to the screen, but that didn’t mean he was actually paying attention. Dennis had told him two more minutes almost fifteen minutes ago. He was starting to get all weird and fidgety, and the movie just wasn’t doing it for him anymore.

“Hey man… if you’ve got the shits, that’s okay too,” Mac sighed; defeated, he slouched against the couch cushions. He couldn’t think of why else Dennis would be taking so long in there. “We can just call it a night and watch the rest tomorrow?”

“What? Dude, No! I don’t have the shits! Just… just wait for me, goddammit. I’ll be out in five!”

After another ten minutes of waiting Mac faintly heard the bathroom door click open. By then, he’d managed to down two beers while mindlessly watching the film. The night had started out so great, and Dennis had to go and kind of fuck it all up by pretending not to have the shits for almost an hour. It wouldn’t have bothered him if he hadn’t made Mac wait in the living room for him like he was some kind of pet. Mac cringed at that word. He wasn’t Dennis’ pet. Dennis didn’t tell him what to do… most of the time. They were partners in crime and real estate. They were bros. Best friends. Blood brothers. They were-

Dennis cleared his throat, Mac was obviously too caught up in his thoughts to realize that his roommate was already there.

“Oh dude finally! I’ve been waiting on you forever! You missed out on almost all of the-

Mac was more than ready to go off on a whole spiel about having to wait forever; about how the popcorn was already cold and inedible; about how rude it was for Dennis to hog the bathroom for that long, what if Mac had wanted to piss? He didn’t… but what if? What if Dennis?

All those words never made it past his lips when he laid eyes on Dennis Reynolds.

“Do you like it?” Dennis asked, in the voice he’d heard him use on women hundreds of times before.

He plopped down next to Mac on the couch; close enough for someone to ask why they were sitting so close to each other when they literally had enough space to fit at least two more people on the couch, but just far away enough that their thighs wouldn’t touch.

Mac's eyes were still locked on Dennis; one would think that after being roommates for well over a decade, Mac would be more than well adjusted to Dennis’ habit of wearing makeup around the apartment. More often than not Dennis would try out different looks, ones too ostentatious to wear anywhere else but the comfort and privacy of their home. Mac would oftentimes barge into Dennis' bedroom and find him in the middle of a practice session, the computer opened next to him with a lady on the screen carefully demonstrating her techniques. He didn’t understand Dennis’ attraction to makeup, it all seemed way too complicated, but he could at least appreciate the effort Dennis went towards doing his face every morning. It was like some terrible, never ending art project. Mac was too lazy to ever bother with that shit, but he had to admit he liked the way it looked on Dennis. Most of all, he liked that Dennis seemed to trust him more than the rest of the gang. 

He wasn’t sure if Dennis was fully aware of it, but Mac always felt special when Dennis would casually come out of his room, face all made up, just to dick around with Mac around the apartment. They’d drink beers, sing along obnoxiously to their favorite 80’s power ballads, watch stupid B-Movies, and occasionally jack it together; all while Dennis’ face was made up like he was due at the red carpet in an hour. 

No one else got to see him like this, and it made him feel like he really, actually mattered to Dennis. He quietly reveled in the thought.

Besides, the rest of the gang already gave Dennis enough shit about the foundation and mascara as it is, they’d have a real field day if they could see him now. Mac didn’t blame him for not trusting them.

“I didn’t miss that much, did I?” Dennis asked, leaning forward to grab a beer from their coffee table.

Usually Mac would’ve pointed out how stupid that question was, Dennis should already know exactly what part of the movie they were on. Had they not watched this movie at least a hundred times before? But he was still an idiot at a lost for words.

He figured he was better off just keeping his mouth shut and staring straight at the screen ahead of him, but his willpower was nothing. He kept peering over at Dennis, who seemed to be fully engrossed in the film and his beer. There was no way Mac could possibly concentrate on the movie now, not when Dennis’ mouth was so bright, so red; his lips wrapped around the beer bottle, and Mac couldn’t help but think how nice it’d be if his lips were wrapped around him instead. If only that lipstick were staining his skin, instead of the neck of that bottle. If only they could just…

“You were in there a long time.” He muttered, trying to snap himself out of it.

Dennis shrugged, “Yeah, well, this is art, Mac. Art takes time. Patience. Finesse. ” He set his beer aside, busying his now empty hand by pressing it against Mac's thigh. “It was worth it. I know. I can tell you like it.”

Mac choked on air then, the sound loud enough to be heard over the gunfire on TV. He scooted away from Dennis, only to have him scoot in closer. The cycle repeated until he was pressed firmly against the armrest with nowhere to escape, and there was Dennis again, too close for comfort; his eyes, shining like a predator who’d just cornered his prey. Mac tried to focus his attention back to the screen; maybe if they could just get their minds back to the movie everything would go back to normal again; maybe Dennis would stop groping his thigh, his hand not so subtly moving closer and closer to the fly of his jeans; and maybe, just maybe, he’d stop wanting this so badly. He’d snap back to his senses, remember his upbringing, remember how wrong Dennis’ touch was right now; and his willpower would finally surpass this sinful temptation.

This was just another one of gods’ tests; he couldn’t keep failing these, or else the big guy up stairs was really gonna have it out for him.

Dennis squeezed his thigh lightly, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans, and Mac distinctly remembered what it felt like when Dennis dragged his nails against his back the last time they fucked on the couch. It stung like a bitch, but Mac hadn’t the courage or desire to tell Dennis to stop. He knew Dennis liked to mark him whenever he could, and it was easy to say that he was more than pleased when he caught sight of the inevitable scratches on Macs’ back the following morning. All while Mac, on the other hand, only ever saw them as reminders of his sins.

He sucked in a sharp breath of air and hated Dennis more than ever when he heard a soft laugh leave his lips. That asshole knew exactly what he was doing to him, and he loved every second of it. This was all just a game to Dennis, one he found much more entertaining than the movie. It didn’t matter what Mac wanted then, this was Dennis’ game, and he’d be the one to decide when it ended. 

Mac wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been stuck playing this demented game with Dennis, probably as long as he'd known him. On the rare moments when he would allow himself to unlock the vault where he kept these specific memories, the only thing he could recall were the sensations; new, exciting, dangerous. He could vaguely remember the thrill of fucking in Dennis’ bedroom with the maid cleaning the room right across the hall; Dennis’ hand clamped over his mouth so he would stop making so much goddamn noise; and the incredibly awkward silences that ritually followed each of their sessions. They’d force conversation about classes, tests, graduation, but eventually they’d just lay in bed and get high until Mac had to go home. Their game got a lot easier to play once they had a place of their own, and Dennis’ advances became more frequent; both to Mac's joy and dismay. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but he loved this game. He loved being the object of Dennis’ desire, the sole recipient of his attention; it was a thrill that he craved more than anything else he’d ever known. And he’d experimented with a lot of shit in his lifetime, but he has yet to find a substance that could give him a better high than Dennis Reynolds.

“Mac?” Dennis’ voice seeped in through the haze of his thoughts.

Mac had long stopped paying attention to the movie. His eyes may’ve been locked on the TV, but his mind was miles away from Philly. He blinked; once, twice. The screen had faded to black, the credits rolled, the score blared through the speakers until Dennis reached for the remote with his free hand and muted the volume.

“Hey, baby boy.” Dennis grinned, and leaned in close, “Movie’s over. What should we do now?”

Mac's eyes widened at the use of that sickeningly cute pet name that Dennis only ever used when they were alone together.

“Maybe, we should, uh… we should probably… go to bed, or something, right?” He stretched then and produced the fakest yawn anyone had ever heard. “It’s our turn to open Paddy’s tomorrow remember? We should get a goodnight’s sleep for that.”

Dennis scoffed, “Who cares? If we’re not there Charlie’ll probably open up. Not like he can say anything about it, we’re his bosses remember?”

His fingers curled in Macs’ hair then, deliberately fucking with his slicked back look. He’d always preferred the way Macs’ hair looked when it was like this, all messy, strands sticking up in every which way. It reminded him of the way it always looked when they’d lie next to each other in post-coital bliss. 

Dennis could feel Mac stiffen beside him. His eyes darted in every direction, looked desperately for an exit strategy, and came up empty. The only place his eyes avoided completely was Dennis.

“Mac…” Dennis’ repeated, his voice a quiet little song; and Mac, without really meaning to, turned to face him.

Only then did he realize just how close Dennis really was. He was mere inches away from straddling his lap then, not like Mac would mind it, but he’d fight it all the same. He still had his convictions, somewhere, deep down. They were there, and as long as he was sure of that fact he could resist every single fiber in his being that wanted Dennis to press against him until he wasn’t sure where he ended and Dennis began.

“Sure you can’t think of anything we could do right now?” He asked, lightly tracing the tips of his fingers against Macs’ cheek, down his neck, they curled around the collar of his shirt and gave a halfhearted tug.

Dennis didn’t mind Mac's hesitance, in fact, he reveled in it. Years of seducing women into his bed taught him a very valuable skill: patience. More than once he’s had to sit with a woman and listen to her talk about her hopes, her dreams; they’d sit together on the edge of his bed, he held her hand, a look of sincere interest plastered on his face while she blabbered on for hours and hours. It was always worth the wait in the end, so long as they gave him what he wanted, and with The D. E. N. N. I. S. System in place, they always did. Patience especially came in handy when dealing with Mac, whether he was seducing him or not. Mac spouted off more than his fair share of bullshit, and Dennis has only ever resorted to kicking the crap out of him a handful of times. As far as he was concerned he had the patience of a saint.

Dennis rested his head on Mac's shoulder, his fingers trailed up and down the front of his shirt. He looked up at him with a look he usually reserved for women, but he knew it’d work wonders on Mac. At least, it would if Mac would bother to just look at him for a second. But he knew better than most people, Mac was stubborn as shit. He was gonna put up a fight, but that wouldn’t matter in the end. Dennis had a twenty year winning streak backing him up, he wasn’t about to let that end tonight.

There was no doubt in his mind; Mac would choose him, he would always choose him. Mac may’ve loved god, but he loved Dennis a little bit more, and nothing got him off more than that.

Dennis never cared about God, at least not until he met Mac.

Mac liked to think he was some kind of good Christian boy. It was total bullshit, anyone could see that, but Dennis knew it’d be a waste of his time to try and shake him awake from that delusion. Mac owned a bible and he went to church regularly, which was more religion than anyone else in the gang had ever bothered with. Macs’ religious fanaticism was only ever a nuisance to the gang; he’d lecture endlessly on the dangers of sin and the wrath of God, but that didn’t make him any better than the rest of them. No matter how much Mac tried to separate himself from the gang, tried to see himself as a righteous man, morally above his sinful friends, he was as much of a degenerate as they all were; so who was he to judge them?

Needless to say, his attempts to convert the gang never amounted to much.

Dennis never cared about God, but Mac did. He remembered once, in the middle of the night, he heard a muffled voice seep in through his paper thin walls. He got up to investigate the source of the noise, only to find Mac, with his bedroom door cracked open just wide enough for Dennis to peak inside and find him on his knees, lost in prayer.

Mac asked God for forgiveness; he asked God to take his impure thoughts and desires away; he asked God to give him strength to overcome the demons in his life; he asked God to help him resist the temptations of the flesh, and Dennis didn’t need anymore proof than that to know that he was the devil in Macs’ life. In Macs’ mind, Dennis was the one leading him astray from Gods’ plan, and as soon as that idea became clear to him, he felt a familiar desire burn in his loins.

He got off that night, and almost every night from then on out, to the thought of Macs’ muffled prayer. Dennis thought of making Mac impure; of filthying up any semblance of virtue left in his immortal soul, of completely ruining him for God, of having Mac all to himself. He thought of being the only one Mac would ever want to worship on his knees and he came harder than he’d ever had while watching one of his sex tapes. He liked the idea of corrupting Mac. Although there wasn’t really much of anything left to corrupt. Mac was a shit person, if he went to hell, it wouldn’t be cause he liked to suck dick.

Dennis never cared about God, but sometimes, when his disbelief would waver, he was comforted by the thought that if he went to hell, Mac would most certainly be stuck there with him.

“Isn’t there anything you’d like to do… right now? With me?” Dennis leaned in, pressed his lips against Mac's ear, and breathed, “To me?”

“Drink!” Mac stood abruptly, nearly making Dennis lose his balance and fall back on the couch, but he kept his cool. This was all apart of their game after all.

By the time Dennis managed to straighten himself out, Mac had already made it over to the kitchen. He hunted down every single shot glass the two of them owned collectively (which was probably more than the average person) and poured (mostly spilled) tequila all over them.

“Drink! Lets drink! Let’s drink all the drinks!” He called over to Dennis, his words regrettably shaky. He hoped Dennis would blame the quiver in his voice on the usual amount of manic energy that Mac had running through his system, instead of the anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

The wine in the restaurant, and the beer he’d downed during the movie just wasn’t enough for him to go through with this. He didn’t have to be blackout drunk to sleep with Dennis, he usually wasn’t. He just needed enough alcohol in his system to help him forget. The stronger the hangover in the morning, the easier it was to distract himself from the inevitable physical evidence Dennis liked to bestow upon him: Scratches, bite marks, and bruises were just a few that came to mind. If only for a few hours, he could pretend that the night before hadn’t happened. The alcohol helped to blur his memories, made the whole thing feel like some kind of fever dream; one that would hopefully go away with enough prayer. Mac couldn’t rightly ignore his convictions, but if he was wasted, it wasn’t really his fault, was it? The blame couldn’t be placed on him, his judgment was impaired! The fact that he would say yes to Dennis no matter what he wanted from him, regardless of his state of mind, was completely besides the point.

When he looked up, Dennis was already standing there. He leaned against their kitchen counter, and looked up at him with bright expectant eyes.

“Shots?”

“Duh.” Mac scoffed, and for a brief second everything felt normal again. They were just two friends watching movies and getting drunk as shit on a Thursday night.

“Sooo…” Dennis slurred; he held his chin in the palm of his hand, a smile curled on his lips that made Mac's heart race and his skin crawl at the same time. It was funny (but mostly scary) that Dennis had that affect on him. “ Are we just gonna throw these back like a couple of savages,” He batted those long pretty eyelashes of his. Stupid mascara. “Or do you wanna make this a little more interesting?”

“Interesting?”

Dennis picked up a shot glass, careful not to spill, and held it out to Mac, who took it with his still shaky hands and ended up spilling some over his shirt; but that was the very least of his concerns.

“Staring Contest.”

“Staring Contest?” Macs’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Dude. What are we? Seventeen? That’s so lame.”

"What?” Dennis laughed, a little defensive, but not offended. “It’s not lame!”

In a moments notice the thick fog of sexual tension that surrounded them lifted ever so slightly, and beneath it they were still best friends. They still liked to rip on each other. Nothing really seemed that different.

“It’s probably the lamest thing you’ve said all night.”

"Dude, c’mon. It’ll be fun.” Dennis picked up a shot for himself, “First person to blink loses-

“I know how a staring contest works, Dennis!” Mac interrupted.

“Shut up and let me finish,” Dennis snapped, even though there was hardly any anger in his words. Mac was just being Mac. A bossy know it all, who didn’t know shit about fuck. It may’ve been annoying as hell, but he was still his best friend. Dennis liked to think he was a little more patient where Mac was concerned.

Besides, he probably wouldn’t get laid tonight if he really did snap and scratch the shit out of Mac again. That’d maybe upset him.

“And the loser… takes a shot.” Dennis finished, “What do you say?”

There was a moment of brief consideration on Macs’ face before his eyes widened and he looked like even more of an idiot than usual.

“Yes!” Mac shouted, probably loud enough to piss off their sleeping neighbors, “I mean,” He cleared his throat, and tried to keep his cool. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

Mac was way too easy to read. He wouldn’t fuck unless he was wasted, which was usually the case. A few shots in him and Mac would be putty in his hands. It was no surprise to him when Mac lost the first few rounds of their stupid little drinking game. He could’ve at least tried to make it seem more convincing, but Dennis was still pleased. Mac could be as stubborn as he wanted, he could live in a state of constant denial for the rest of his life, Dennis didn’t give a shit about that noise. He already knew Mac's dirty little secret: he wanted Dennis just as much as Dennis wanted him. He didn’t need Mac to say it for it to be so painfully obvious. He’d known it for years, and he’d keep using Macs’ obsessive adulation to his advantage.

Some may call it manipulative, but he was just being proactive. They both had something to gain here, they both benefited out of this little arrangement. Dennis felt no guilt watching Mac drown his convictions with tequila.

Blink. Salt. Shot. Lemon.

The cycle repeated until Mac had difficulty standing on his own without tripping over his own two feet. Dennis lead him back to the couch, and wasted no time climbing onto his lap. Mac was too wasted to voice a protest, but even if he could, he wouldn’t have. This was exactly what he wanted. He wasn’t as drunk as he would’ve liked to be, but he wasn’t complaining either, he was sure he was just drunk enough to warrant a killer hangover in the morning.

Mac felt fuzzy all over; fuzzy, and warm, and heavy with Dennis’ weight looming over him. He liked it. He liked the heat pooling in his stomach, but he mostly liked the heat radiating off of Dennis; his fingers grazing over his skin like the flicker of a flame. Dennis’ hands held onto Mac’s face, his thumbs lightly stroking his cheeks in small circles. He leaned in close, made sure Mac’s gaze was on him and only him.

“Is this nice?” Dennis asked, his voice hushed, “Are you having a good time?”

Mac just nodded his head weakly in response, a stupid looking smile on his face.

“Good… good… that’s good, baby boy. I want you to feel good.” Dennis mumbled, laying the praise on thick, he knew exactly how to push Mac's buttons. “I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight…hmm? Sound good?”

Mac nodded again, a little faster this time around.

Dennis chuckled, “Yeah, I thought so… I know what you like…”

Mac’s mind may’ve been a haze with booze, but that didn’t keep him from focusing in on Dennis lips; so red, so full, and _so_ very soft against his.

Dennis leaned in and pressed his mouth flush against Mac’s, his head tilted to one side, while his lips moved in time with his; nice and slow. Mac’s body relaxed into Dennis' touch, his hands holding onto his face as if he were something delicate, something that he needed to protect; his lips uncharacteristically gentle. They didn’t often kiss — unless sex was involved at some point, and he was sure sex would be in this case — so he found it odd that Dennis was showing him this compassionate act that he usually saved for the women he manipulated. With Mac, everything was always fast, rough, and dirty; he was used to it that way, he liked it that way. This was different, but not bad, he could get used it easier than he’d ever dare admit.

Mac never considered himself to be a great kisser, but Dennis seemed to like kissing him well enough. And just like everything else he did when Dennis was involved, Mac held onto him like he’d lose him, and he kissed him just the same. It was almost embarrassing how painfully needy he was for any bit of attention Dennis deemed fit to bestow upon him, he ate it all up: every scrap of affection, every passing compliment, and without fail, he always came back asking for more; even though he knew, at his core, that he was wrong doing so. He needed Dennis. Mac leaned in closer, he always wanted to be just a little bit closer, wanted just another taste of his lips, but it was no use then; Dennis moved away and Mac was left just as wide eyed and needy as ever. He whined, like a pathetic pet with separation anxiety.

Dennis smirked at the sight of Mac; the disheveled hair; the smudges of red that stained his lips, undeniable proof that they’d just made out; the dumb and disgustingly adorable look in his eyes that nearly shouted at him for more. He always preferred Mac like this, ready to please; he always preferred to have the upper hand, and with Mac it was _always_ too easy to get what he really wanted.

Mac was his best friend, his roommate, his life partner — as far as their real estate role-play fantasies were concerned — if he was ever to love someone, it was probably gonna be him. In a way, Dennis did already love him, at the very least, he loved what Mac did for him. He loved the rush he felt whenever Mac looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, like he’d forsake everything else if Dennis asked him to; and he has, he’s proven it time and time again. Dennis could hurt him, abuse him, scratch the shit out of him, and he’d always be right there when he needed him most. It was a kind of security he’d never known before Mac, one he couldn’t imagine living without now. He hadn’t meant to get addicted to it, it just happened, when they were both too young to know any better.

Dennis remembered high school; ditching class and hiding underneath the bleachers with Mac. He remembered sharing joints and the way Mac would take an especially long drag after the blunt had touched Dennis’ lips. He remembered blowing smoke into Mac’s face and being just close enough to kiss him, but they never would, at least not at school. They’d wait until they’d gotten home, and Dennis could drag him up to his room and do whatever he pleased. 

Weed alone never made him feel the way Mac made him feel in those days, and maybe that’s why he found himself drawn to him still, after all these years.When he was with Mac, it was the closest he ever felt to being a God, and if that wasn’t love then Dennis didn’t know what was.

“You like me, right?” Dennis asked, his voice low. He brushed soft, incentivizing kisses against Mac’s lips. Dennis already knew the answer, but he still needed to hear it from Mac. He needed him to say it, over and over again, that was how he got off. “Tell me you like me. Tell me you want me.”

Mac nodded, he’d say yes to anything if it meant they could keep kissing, but Dennis pulled back, which earned him another annoyed whine.

“No.” He said, voice firm. “ _Tell me_. Tell me you want me. Tell me I’m sexy. Tell me you want me… you want to fuck me now, don’t you?

“C’mon baby boy,” His voice softened into that seductive purr that made Mac sing sin. Dennis leaned in, lips trailing away from Mac’s mouth. They moved along his jaw, little red blossoms forming on his skin. “Use your words… tell me. Tell me. Tell me I’m good.”

Sometimes Dennis thought that Mac knew him better than he knew himself. Mac watched Dennis get worse and worse with time, he endured every lapse in character he’s every had, he knew better than anyone else just how ugly Dennis was deep down inside; so goddamn disgusting, all the make up in the world couldn’t hide it, couldn’t make him feel any less insecure. Mac didn’t seem to care. Mac loved him regardless. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Mac loved him, he’d suspected it when they were young, but now he was sure of it. Dennis didn’t mind, he loved being loved by Mac. He made Dennis feel like he didn’t need the makeup to be worth while. Mac, and _only_ Mac, could make him feel so comfortable in his own skin.

Now he just needed another taste, needed to hear those two words, he needed it more than anything else — booze, crack, and pussy included.

_He hadn’t meant to get addicted, validation was just one hell of a drug._

“Tell me…”

“Goddammit Dennis,” Mac slurred, drunk with either pleasure or tequila, or both, probably both, definitely both.“Good, so good, so… goddamn good…”

Mac wasn’t too proud to beg, at least when he was this wasted he wasn’t.

“That’s my good boy.” A satisfied grin curled onto Dennis’ lips, he looked so smug. It made Mac’s skin crawl.

He should’ve gathered every sober cell in his being together and walked out the door while he still had the chance; he often thought of doing just that, but he knew he’d never be able to go through with it. He was trapped in Dennis’ orbit, he’d always been, and there was no hope of escape, so why even bother entertaining the idea? If he couldn’t say no to that disarming smile when he was a teenager, then what were the chances that he’d be able to resist it now?

Dennis’ lips latched onto a patch of skin on his neck, and he sucked; teeth ruthlessly digging into sensitive flesh. It felt like Dennis would eat him alive in that moment if the opportunity presented itself, his teeth gnawed on his skin until ugly, irritated, bruises littered his neck. It hurt like hell, but Mac wasn’t about to tell Dennis to stop; only partly because he was a little scared of  what he might do. But mostly, he was afraid of Dennis thinking he was more trouble than he was worth. He knew how easily Dennis could change his mind, especially when it came to other people. Mac thought of  Dennis’ seventy-two hour marriage to Maureen Ponderosa; how head over heels in love he’d been with her, and now she was just another burden in his life. He couldn’t stand the sight of her. Mac would be lying if he tried to deny he feared Dennis changing his mind over him. Dennis could decide one day without notice that he didn’t want this weird little arrangement anymore, he could dump Mac in a pool of his own sexual frustration and think nothing of it. Mac wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself when that day inevitably came.

All he knew was that he was better off with Dennis than without, and if keeping him around meant letting him maul his neck like some kind of goddamn wild animal, then so be it.

Mac’s grip on the front of Dennis’ button up tightened, he held on with white knuckles, like it was the last thing left grounding him to reality. It was always so easy to get lost in a world of sensations with Dennis; his hands roamed everywhere, his kisses followed suit — tainting every bit of visible skin in reach.

Just as promised, this felt _so good_. But it wasn’t just Dennis’ mouth making him feel that way. Mac felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction whenever he managed to please Dennis. All his life, he wanted to be accepted; by his absent father, by Adriano Calvanese and his goons, by the gang. Whenever he could please Dennis, he felt, if only for a little while, like he _was_ good enough, like he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail to prove to the world that he was worth something. It was a strange sense of euphoria Dennis, and _only_ Dennis, had ever managed to trigger. 

Dennis pulled away and smirked at the sight before him. He thought Mac looked so much better like this; his hair and clothes all fucked up, his face and neck covered in red lipstick, he was the epitome of dishevelment, and it was unbearably attractive. He could’ve spent the rest of the evening admiring his work, but instead, he leaned in close, and pressed a quiet kiss to a bright irritated hickey right on Mac’s jugular. Mac quivered beneath his touch and Dennis felt so goddamn powerful.

By tomorrow, the lipstick would’ve washed away, but those bruises would still be as bright and red as ever, and everyone who saw him would know that Mac belonged to him.

Tomorrow he’d show up to the bar with fresh hickeys on his neck and no way to explain himself. He’d make up some bogus story about some kinky chick he hooked up with last night that no none would really believe, but at least Charlie would pretend to.

“Jesus Christ Mac, was that girl a goddamn shark?” Dee asked, only entertaining Mac’s obvious lie out of amusement. Based off the shit-eating grin on her brothers face while he watched Mac struggle to think of an answer on the spot, she already knew who the real culprit was.

“Oh man you would _not_ believe! This girl was a freak!” He boasted, hoping his loud overconfident demeanor would fool the gang.

“Mmmmh…” Dee mumbled in response, lazily cleaning a pint glass with a washcloth, “I bet…”

“Shut up Dee I wanna hear the story!” Charlie shushed; the gang didn’t think much of his intelligence, but even _he_ wasn’t oblivious to Mac’s sexuality. He just thought it’d be nice to humor him for a little while.

Dennis would watch the little show from behind the bar, a satisfied grin on his lips. He’d notice throughout the day how Mac would purposefully avoid his gaze; and every time Dennis managed to catch his eye, Mac’s hand would instinctively move to cover up the bruises on his neck.

Tomorrow, Mac would go back to living in the delusion that he was straight, but tonight that didn’t matter in the slightest. Tonight when Dennis’ lips reconnected with Mac’s — their kisses hungry and desperate and deep, Dennis’ teeth tugging and pulling on Mac’s lips until they could both taste blood — they both knew, what neither one of them would ever willingly admit to the other outside of the confines of their apartment.

They would always belong to each other, whether they wanted it or not. 

“Mine.” Dennis breathed into Macs’ skin; every little kiss, every bruise, a silent reminder of this fact.

“Yours.” Mac sank to his knees in front of Dennis; face nuzzled comfortably between his thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, wasn't that a doozy?
> 
> Also, forgive me, i've never actually seen Predator before.


End file.
